


Her Biggest Fan

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bullying, Eventual Smut, F/F, Romance, Specifically bullying about weight, Trans Female Character, Trans Marianne von Edmund, the smut is COMING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Marianne has been admiring Hilda from afar for a while now, and she's about to get a whole lot closer than she'd ever dreamed.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 75
Kudos: 129





	1. Nerd Seeks Jock

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! A follower request for you today. I hope you enjoy, I'm having a blast writing this one.
> 
> Also, the fabulous @tripleXXXFox on twitter did some art to go along with this chapter right [here.](https://twitter.com/TripleXXXFox/status/1343974221018525698) I am flattered beyond words!

“I don’t know, Marianne, don’t you think it’s a little cold to be out here?” Bernadetta asks, and Marianne can nearly hear her friend’s teeth chattering when she speaks. It’s a fair question; the October chill combined with the autumn breeze that blows through campus— which is, itself, built like one huge wind tunnel—is enough to make Marianne shiver every time it gusts by. But…on the other hand…

She looks down the bleachers to the practice field below, where the Garreg Mach University girls’ football team, the Golden Deer, are, well…practicing. It’s nothing out of the ordinary; they’re merely running drills, doing cardio, that sort of thing. But she needs to be here as much as she needs to breathe, and poor Bernadetta simply got dragged along. Marianne feels a little stab of guilt at the thought.

Marianne is really the only friend Bernadetta has on campus, and vice-versa, so they spend almost all of their free time together. Usually, that involves being squirreled away in one of their student apartments watching movies, or reading, or doing needlepoint, or something similarly quiet and mundane. It usually does _not_ involve sitting out on the football field bleachers in forty degree weather so that Marianne can ogle her crush, while having a friend along for plausible deniability. She shivers.

“Well…yes…uh…it’s kind of cold,” she says, trying to come up with an excuse. “B-but I thought we could use a little time outside, is all. Fresh air.”

It sounds like a weak excuse, because it _is_ a weak excuse, and Bernadetta sees right through her.

“Mmm,” her friend hums, her tone uncertain. “Are you… _sure_ it doesn’t have anything to do with Hilda?”

The heat that rushes to Marianne’s face could keep a small family warm for the whole winter.

“Is it really that obvious?” she asks, weakly. “I’m…it’s not creepy, is it? I…I just…” Marianne struggles to find the right words, and Bernadetta sighs.

“I don’t know, Marianne, I think you should just talk to her. You’re like…uh…super pretty. And I think you’d have a chance, unlike me with Leonie,” Bernadetta insists, and Marianne smiles weakly. Her friend is lying, of course; Marianne is nowhere _near_ pretty enough to go on a date with someone like Hilda Goneril, much less be her _girlfriend_. But it’s sweet of Bernie to say that, nonetheless.

Marianne fidgets, sliding a little closer to Bernadetta for warmth. “I think you have much more of a chance with Leonie,” she insists. “Hilda’s captain of her football team, _and_ head cheerleader for the boys’. She hangs out with people like Claude and Lorenz. I even heard she dated Edelgard for a while, back in high school. I’m just…”

She’s…what, exactly? A dumpy, frumpy, depressed, average-at-best-looking psychology student with a GPA that should be way higher, given her complete lack of _any_ extracurriculars? And that’s not even _considering_ how someone might react when they find out Marianne is trans. No, she’s fairly certain that pining after Hilda from afar is the best she’s going to get, and anything more than that would simply be setting herself up for humiliation.

“…I’m nowhere near that,” Marianne concludes, pursing her lips and shivering once more. Bernadetta had been right; it’s far too cold outside for this. What is she even hoping to accomplish? Does she think that Hilda’s going to—

Her train of thought is interrupted as a whistle blows down on the field, and her eyes reflexively snap down to the source of the noise. Bernadetta, for her part, squeaks aloud and nearly drops the needlepoint project that she brought to occupy herself.

The players on the field all converge at the sides, and Marianne catches a glimpse of the object of her affection. Even from afar, she is _stunning_.

Hilda Goneril isn’t _tall_ , not at all, but there’s something about her presence that makes her stick out in a crowd. The bright bubblegum-pink hair probably helps, of course, but it’s more than that; it’s her personality that truly sets her apart. She’s bubbly and loud and unapologetically takes up space in a way that Marianne cannot help but admire. She seems like she’s always smiling, or laughing, or joking, and people _trip_ over themselves to help her with anything she needs, so much so that Hilda has something of a reputation for being lazy. Marianne, though, knows that has to be at least _partially_ false, because she can’t imagine that someone as sweet as Hilda would fail to help someone in need.

As Marianne watches Hilda bounce over to the sidelines, her heart swells and feels like it might just burst. Privately, embarrassingly, deep down, Marianne even has the audacity to think of the woman as just a little bit _hers_. _Her_ Hilda. _Her_ Hilda chatting with her friends. _Her_ Hilda practicing her heart out on the field.

 _Her_ Hilda, looking up into the stands.

Marianne freezes for reasons entirely unrelated to the weather. Hilda’s eyes are trailing up the mostly empty bleachers, as though looking for something, and when they come to rest on Marianne, she suddenly feels a little self-conscious about her plain grey peacoat and her old knitted cap. She fidgets under that gaze, feeling for all the world as though time has stopped for everyone but her and Hilda, and her breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet.

And then Hilda _waves_. She raises her hand high in the air and gives Marianne a little wave. Quick and simple, probably barely noticeable to anyone else, but it’s enough to make Marianne’s heart skip a beat. 

Hilda _noticed_ her. She _saw_ her. And she _smiled_ at her. 

Marianne turns around to look over her shoulder, just to make sure there isn’t anyone else that Hilda could have been waving to, but there _isn’t_. When she turns back around, Hilda shakes her head, points at Marianne, and waves _again_.

Marianne squeaks, feeling panicked, unsure what to do, but before she can work herself up into too much of a tizzy about it, someone grabs Hilda by the shoulder and engages her in conversation, and the spell is broken. She realizes that her hand is halfway in the air, as though she’s about to wave back, and she drops it quickly. There’s no point, now. As Marianne turns her head to look at Bernadetta next to her, it’s clear that her friend didn’t notice a _thing_. Marianne’s entire day was just made, and Bernadetta didn’t even _notice_. Just as well, probably.

Now, though, Marianne feels…exposed. What will she do if Hilda waves at her again? Or catches her staring? No. That simply won’t do.

“Bernadetta?”

Her friend looks up at her from where she was absorbed in her project. “Yeah? What?”

“I think you’re right, we should probably go home,” Marianne says, a little too quickly. Bernadetta cocks an eyebrow.

“Really? But Hilda’s still there.”

Marianne shushes her, as though there’s any chance Hilda will hear them from all the way down there on the field.

“Yes, well, I’m a little cold, you were right, it’s probably not good for us to be out here in this weather.”

Bernadetta squints. “Marianne, are you…uh….feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling wonderful,” she insists, standing up and double-checking that she has her phone and keys in her pocket. “Come on, I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

With a shrug, Bernadetta joins her. “When it comes to going home, you don’t have to tell _me_ twice.”


	2. The World's Pinkest Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne gets hit on by a Nice Guy (TM). It doesn't go well for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Bullying about weight, I suppose. Here's the second chapter!

The entire trajectory of Marianne’s life changes just a few short days later.

It’s late afternoon—around four o’clock to be exact—and she’s stepping into the hall after a particularly grueling exam in her neuropsychology class. Her brain is fried, and she isn’t entirely certain that it’s not pouring out her ears. She groans, leaning against the wall by the classroom, and closes her eyes as she tries to recover enough brain cells to walk back to her car without getting lost.

“Hey,” says a male voice, one of her classmates. “Marianne, you awake?”

Her eyes flutter open and she sighs. Such is the price of resting in a public place; there’s always the chance that someone will try to  _ talk _ to her. “H-hello, yes, I am,” she says, looking at the young man addressing her. It’s Miklan, or, at least, she thinks so. She doesn’t pay very close attention to the people she’s in class with, usually preferring to be in and out of the room as quickly as possible.

He’s taller than her, and pretty clearly a few years older as well, with messy red hair that she supposes some people probably find attractive. He’s also obviously quite physically strong, and something about his presence is just very  _ imposing _ . She’s not sure if it’s just because she tends to be a little nervous, but something about him just makes her feel...uncomfortable.

“Tough test, huh?” he says, and Marianne smiles weakly. She’d really prefer that the conversation was over, but she also doesn’t want to flee and upset someone she’s going to have to sit in a room with for a few more weeks yet. She has at least  _ that _ much social grace.

Marianne nods, leaning away from the wall to stand up straight, her hands folded in front of her, where she’s holding her binder and folders. “Yes, well, I think I…um…did okay. Maybe. I studied, at least!” Her classmate laughs, though Marianne isn’t totally sure what she said that was funny.

“Yeah, well, hey, if you wanna go de-stress a little bit, I’ll buy you dinner,” he offers, and he’s so  _ casual _ about it that she’s not sure she heard correctly.

“W-what? Dinner?” she asks, her face flushing bright pink. A date. She’s being asked on a date. By…Miklan. Oh dear. “I-I’m sorry, I’m not…” she begins and her classmate frowns.

“You’re not what?” he asks, sounding more frustrated than inquisitive. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Marianne replies, and she feels very small when she does. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t want to offend, but…uh…I don’t really g-go on dates with…uh…”

She looks away, her eyes resting on the floor nearby. It’s not  _ his _ fault that she isn’t attracted to men.  _ He’s _ just trying to be nice.

Miklan snorts, and it draws Marianne’s eyes back up to his. He’s not smiling anymore. Rather, he’s looking down at Marianne like she’s offending him by having the audacity to breathe the same air he is.

“Whatever,” he says, shrugging. “I was just trying to be nice,”

“I…I know,” she replies, sheepish. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, you should be. Not a lot of guys out there know how to treat a lady these days. And I can’t imagine you get a whole lot of takers.”

“What?” Marianne asks, blinking in surprise. His attitude has reversed so suddenly that she feels like she’s going to get whiplash. Other people are looking at them, now, and she really wishes she could just curl up in a little ball and die.

Miklan snorts again. “I’m just saying, you should latch on to a guy who shows interest, cause there aren’t gonna be a lot.” His eyes roam across her, from her head to her feet. “I mean, sure, maybe if you wore a little more makeup, maybe dropped a couple pounds…”

She feels her eyes prickling with tears and her face grows hotter. Why is he being so  _ mean _ to her? She tried to be nice; tried not to offend him. Marianne looks down at herself and…well…maybe she  _ could _ stand to lose a little weight, but…

His tirade is interrupted by a voice behind him. A familiar one, a woman, probably, but Miklan is big enough that she can’t see who it is.

“Hey, dickhead,” says the voice, and just as Miklan begins to turn around to identify its source, a fist adorned by several rings and what appears to be sparkly pink nail polish comes rocketing into the side of his head with the force of a small train.

Miklan, caught off-balance and off-guard, goes sprawling to the floor in a heap. Marianne can finally see her savior, and she freezes like a doe in headlights.

“The lady said she didn’t wanna get dinner with you,” says Hilda Goneril, without even looking down at him. She’s inspecting the nails on the hand that she hit him with, instead. “Fuck off, creep.”

Marianne watches in horror as he gets up, bleeding slightly from a small cut on the side of his head where a ring must have caught him. Miklan growls. “You little  _ bitch _ , I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna get your ass kicked if you don’t leave her alone and go away,” Hilda casts a sideways glance at Marianne, then looks back at Miklan. “And for your information, she’s  _ super _ pretty, and could get a date with basically anyone she wanted. Hell, I’d go on a date with her.”

Marianne feels her blood run cold. Hilda would  _ what _ ?

A few short days ago, she was sitting atop the bleachers and fantasizing about Hilda even  _ talking _ to her, and now she’s saying she’d take her on a  _ date _ ?

“In fact,” Hilda continues, turning to look at her. “Hey, Marianne, right?” she asks. Marianne nods. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything out loud. “You wanna go on a date this weekend?”

“D-do…” she stammers, trying to make her brain work.

“You totally don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you’re pretty, and I’d like to take you on a date, and it would make this guy  _ really _ mad, so it’s really kind of a win-win-win,” Hilda says, pointing at a fuming Miklan. He looks like he’s struggling as much as Marianne to come up with the right words for the feelings he wants to express, if for a very different reason.

This is it. This is her chance. Fate just dropped this opportunity into Marianne’s lap, and it’s a chance she’ll probably  _ never _ get again. She swallows, takes a deep breath, summons all her courage, and replies.

“Yes, um, I think I would like that v-very much.”

“Great! I’ll pick you up at five on Saturday. Text me your address and stuff,” Hilda says, pulling a permanent marker out of her pocket. She reaches out and takes Marianne’s hand, which of  _ course _ gives her goosebumps all on its own. Hilda flips Marianne’s palm up, scribbles her phone number there, and replaces the marker in her pocket.

Hilda turns to regard Miklan again, who’s been standing and watching the exchange, dumbfounded. Marianne doesn’t blame him.

“See? She can get a date, easy. Meanwhile, the only person you have a date with on Saturday is Miss Rosie Palms,” Hilda says, casting a meaningful glance down at Miklan’s right hand. He scowls, shoves the hand in his pocket, turns around, and stalks down the hall away from them.

Marianne’s stomach sinks as he leaves and the reality of what just happens begins to set in. She has a date. With Hilda. Because Hilda felt bad for her. Observers drift away and resume what they were doing before Miklan made a scene, and Hilda huffs in satisfaction.

“Serves him right. That guy is a  _ huge _ douche. Sorry you had to deal with him.”

“I-it’s okay,” Marianne mumbles. “You…Hilda…um…you don’t have to go on a date with me. It’s really nice of you to offer, but I know—”

Hilda waves a hand dismissively, cutting her off. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. If  _ you _ don’t want to, though, no hard feelings. I know I kinda put you on the spot there, and that wasn’t super cool of me.”

She tries to imagine what kind of person  _ wouldn’t _ want to go on a date with Hilda.

“No, I want to. I…I want to, very much,” she replies, quietly, trying not to sound too desperate. “I just…”

Hilda waves her off again. “Look, if you want to, and I want to, that’s all there is to it. If you change your mind, you can text me and let me know. Otherwise, I’ll see you on Saturday, alright? I’m looking forward to hanging out with my biggest fan.”

Marianne blinks. “Biggest fan?” she asks, confused, as Hilda turns to walk away. Hilda stops, still looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah. Lots of people come see our games. Nobody  _ else _ comes to see me practice, though,” she explains, with a wink.

As Hilda bounds down the hallway, Marianne leans against the wall once more and sighs. She’s trembling, nervous, coming down from an adrenaline high, and she feels for all the world like she just got swept up by the world’s pinkest hurricane. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to come find me on twitter, I'm [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite). Thanks as always to my fabulous beta reader [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells). Go read her fics too!!


	3. A Tiny Wrist Adjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda takes Marianne on a date and teaches her a thing or two about follow-through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for a date? Are you as excited as Marianne is?

_are we still on for tonight?_

_7pm?_

_Yes, but are you sure that you can’t tell me where we’re going?_

_it’s a surprise, silly!_

_Well, I suppose that’s fine. I’m looking forward to it either way._

_sweet, see you then!!!_ _😊_

Marianne reads and re-reads the text message exchange until she’s certain she’s going to give herself a headache from the eyestrain of staring at her phone. Did she sound too uninterested? Was it rude to pry about the surprise date that Hilda’s planned for the two of them? Is she being ungrateful? Should she have used more emojis?

Eventually, she just tosses the phone over to the couch and out of reach, because she knows that this isn’t helpful. Her nerves are still definitely getting the better of her though. She’s sweating a little, and red, and has an anxious feeling best likened to a horse running around in the pit of her stomach.

Hilda had asked her on a date three days ago, and Marianne has been growing more and more nervous ever since. They haven’t exchanged many text messages either; just enough for Marianne to confirm that she’s still interested, and wants to go on the date, and to give Hilda her address. Ever-inscrutable, Hilda’s replies are mostly just sentence fragments punctuated by emojis, and Marianne has no idea how to interpret those. For the briefest moment, she wonders whether _everyone_ thinks about their text messages this much, or if she’s just strange.

She supposes strange is probably a decent word for her, as she finished getting ready for her date about forty-five minutes ago—at six—and she’s been sitting ramrod-straight in the same spot in her living room ever since. Marianne has had _job interviews_ that didn’t have her this worked up, and when her phone buzzes from where it’s resting several feet away, she nearly shrieks.

Should she grab it? Should she leave it? What if it’s Hilda cancelling at the last minute? What if the whole thing is a practical joke to make Marianne _think_ that someone wants to date her? A million possibilities rush through her mind, each one worse than the last, but she pushes them away. No. _Her Hilda_ wouldn’t be so cruel. Despite it all, a soft smile finds its way to her lips, and she gets up to grab her phone.

_stopping at starbucks, u want anything?_

Marianne sighs. Working herself up over nothing, as usual. She taps out a reply.

_No, thank you! I have plenty of coffee here._

She looks at the phone for a moment, considering her message, and then adds a smiley face to the end before sending it.

_whatever floats your goats :P_

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle. Hilda’s so cute, and funny, and it feels nearly surreal that she’s about to go on a date with her. Something about Hilda’s offer of coffee, strangely, assuages her anxiety a little bit, and she spends the next few minutes aimlessly scrolling through social media feeds.

The knock at her door startles her, but it’s not _quite_ as bad as her phone was, and she quickly slips the device into a small, plain purse that she slings over her shoulder. Marianne takes a deep breath, says a prayer to any and all gods or goddesses who might be listening, and goes to open the door.

Hilda stands on the other side, and she looks positively _radiant_. Which is sort of surprising, given that she’s wearing a relatively simple pink and black checkered flannel, a pair of nice—if understated—skinny jeans, and a _very_ cute pair of pink flats. Her bubblegum-pink hair is tied up in a high ponytail behind her, and her makeup is masterfully and subtly applied with a precision that Marianne can only _dream_ of. Hilda waves, and Marianne realizes, with a blush, that she’s staring.

“Heyo, Earth to Marianne. You there?” Hilda teases, and Marianne nods quickly.

“Yes, sorry, I was just…looking at your shirt. It’s very nice,” she says, lamely. Hilda doesn’t seem to mind, though, and smiles a warm, genuine smile.

“Thanks, it’s designer,” she replies, and Marianne nods as if she understands what that means. She’s never really been much for fashion, tending to just wear whatever she finds comfortable. This, she feels, is only exemplified by the fact that she’s currently in a rather plain black dress with some blue accents, and a cardigan that she knit herself. But Hilda doesn’t seem to mind that, either.

“So…um…are you ready?” Marianne asks. “Or…do you want to come in for a moment?”

Hilda gasps. “Mari- _anne_! I’ve been talking to you for all of a minute and a half and you’re already trying to take me home? What kind of girl do you think I _am?_ ”

Oh. Oh no. Now she’s done it.

Marianne flushes bright red, putting up her hands defensively. “No, I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to…Uh…I mean, I don’t—”

Eyes wide, Hilda reaches out and puts a hand on Marianne’s arm, which stops her mid-sentence. “Shush, hey, I was kidding!” she interjects, but Marianne barely processes that. Her attention is almost entirely focused on the way Hilda’s touch feels through her cardigan.

She takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and nods. “Sorry, I…don’t go on very many dates,” Marianne admits. “I don’t think I’m very good at them.”

“All the more reason to practice, hot stuff,” Hilda says, with a cocky grin that makes Marianne’s heart skip a beat. She pats Marianne’s arm before dropping her own, and turns to walk down the hall, apparently expecting Marianne to follow her. Marianne _does_ , of course, after she recovers from the shock of Hilda calling her ‘hot stuff’, and she has to jog to catch up.

—❦—

If Marianne were to sit down and write a list of a hundred things that she might expect Hilda to take her to do on a date, _axe throwing_ would not be anywhere on it.

It seems like such a bizarre choice, and yet it fits perfectly, she considers, as she watches Hilda flip one of the hatchets in her hand to test the weight. Marianne decides, too, that despite the oddness of the choice, she’s glad to be here. There’s…well…there’s something undeniably _attractive_ about her crush flipping a weapon in her hand just as easily as Marianne might twirl a pencil, and she can’t help but sneak a glance at Hilda’s tightly muscled arms now that she’s rolled up her sleeves.

“So, Marianne, you ever thrown an axe before?” Hilda asks, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Her gaze finds its way back up to Hilda’s face, and she flushes slightly when she sees that her date is smirking. Did she catch Marianne staring?

“N-no, I haven’t,” she stammers. “I…assume you _have_?”

Hilda tosses the axe again, not even _looking_ at it, and catches it with the same hand. “Yeah, once or twice. It’s good stress relief.”

They’re set up at a booth with long dividers between theirs and the ones on either side, meaning that they can throw and retrieve their axes as they like, without needing to wait for the supervisor—a young man named Caspar that Marianne is _sure_ she’s seen around campus—to call a halt. Hilda turns away from Marianne, planting her foot and falling into a stance that looks like it’s been practiced over many, _many_ throws. She closes one eye, looks at the target, takes a deep breath, and then hauls her arm forward and releases the axe with a low, aggressive grunt. It flies end over end, almost faster than Marianne can see, and embeds itself in the target with a solid, final _thunk,_ just six inches from the bullseye.

“Fuck, so close!” Hilda complains, then stands up straight and puts her hands on her hips, looking sheepishly at Marianne. “That…was a practice throw. I’m usually way better than that.”

Marianne is gaping, flabbergasted. That was Hilda’s _practice throw_? Six inches from the bullseye? It’s one of the hottest displays Marianne has ever seen, and that’s to say nothing of the very interesting and distracting ways that Hilda’s back and legs moved when she was following through with her throw.

“Hilda…that was very good,” Marianne says, finally able to get her mouth and brain to work in synch again. “I think your practice throw was…uh…probably better than a lot of peoples’ _real_ throws.”

Hilda grins from ear to ear and it’s nearly enough to make Marianne’s heart explode. “Aww, thanks, you flatterer,” she says. “You’re sweet. Do you wanna give it a try? We get four throws before we gotta go pick the axes up.”

Goddess. After Hilda set the bar so high, Marianne knows there’s no chance in hell that she’s going to manage anything impressive. She almost wants to say no, to tell Hilda to go again, but she figures she might as well get her pitiful display over with.

So Marianne nods, and takes Hilda’s place on the lane. She chooses an axe, not sure if there’s any notable differences between them, and picks it up, noting how surprisingly _heavy_ it is. Or…perhaps she’s just not very strong. Or maybe both.

She tries to set her feet in the same positions that she saw Hilda using a moment ago, pulls her arm back, and flings the axe forward with a decidedly _un_ -aggressive yelp. The axe wobbles in the air and, somehow, smacks against the target with the flat side of the head, then falls to the ground. Marianne groans. “I’m sorry Hilda, I’m…not very strong, and I’ve never done this before.”

When she turns around, she sees Hilda frowning, a befuddled expression on her face. “What are you apologizing for, goofball?” she asks. “You didn’t like…hurt my feelings or anything.”

Marianne winces. “Sorry!”

“You’re—” Hilda sighs heavily. “Okay, never mind. Anyways. Pick up that other axe, and let me show you how it’s done, okay? It’s less about strength, and more about how you move.”

With a nod, Marianne picks up the axe, trying to relax, pretending as if she didn’t just thoroughly embarrass herself in front of the prettiest girl in her entire university.

“Good,” Hilda says. “Now, act like you’re about to throw it, but don’t _actually_ throw it, okay?”

She tries, once again, to square her feet the same way Hilda did, and holds the axe aloft behind her, poised to throw. “Like this?” she asks.

“Yep, just like that. Now hold still.”

Hilda steps in close, so close that Marianne can smell her perfume. It’s a light, flowery smell, maybe with hints of rose. It’s utterly intoxicating, and that’s _before_ Hilda touches her.

Her date reaches out with one hand, placing it on the wrist of Marianne’s throwing arm and adjusting it slightly. She turns Marianne’s hand, delicate fingers dancing across the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist in a way that makes every nerve ending there feel as though it’s on fire.

Hilda moves her hands down slightly to Marianne’s elbow and upper arm, which she grabs in two firm hands and moves slightly, making some minute positional adjustments there as well. Marianne shudders in her grip, and she _knows_ there’s no way Hilda didn’t feel it, but the athlete is undeterred.

As she finishes moving Marianne’s arm, she inspects her work and hums, a pleased, proud sound. “Good. Now let’s do something about those feet,” Hilda says, and Marianne nearly faints when she moves again.

This time, Hilda presses herself firmly to Marianne’s back; so firmly that Marianne can feel Hilda’s chest pressing against her from behind, and can feel her warm, damp breath on the back of her neck. Her knees nearly buckle as Hilda, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, sweeps one foot between Marianne’s legs and nudges her own feet apart slightly, moving them into their proper positions. She taps at the back of one of Marianne’s shoes, encouraging the foot forward, and in doing so, she brushes her knee against Marianne’s thigh.

Marianne whimpers, quietly, doing her very best not to be heard. She can’t say for certain whether Hilda hears her or not, but if she does, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she steps away, and Marianne feels her absence _painfully._

“Excellent! Okay! Do you feel that?” Hilda asks, chipper and upbeat.

“F-Feel what?” Marianne feels a lot of things, at the moment. She especially _feels_ grateful that Hilda can’t see her face.

“The way you’re standing. You feel how much more natural that is?”

“I…suppose so.”

“Excellent, now, give it your best shot! Look straight at the bullseye and throw it!”

She does, focusing intently on the bullseye and trying very hard to ignore the myriad thoughts and feelings warring for control of her psyche.

With what she hopes is a fearsome battle cry, Marianne whips her hand forward. This time, her throw is significantly more true, the axe sticking in the target about a foot _under_ the bullseye and about eight inches or so to the left. But she hits the target, nonetheless, and gasps aloud.

“I did it!” Marianne exclaims, then covers her mouth with her hands once she notices several other attendees turning to look at her. “Sorry!” she mumbles, though none of them can hear her. They turn back to their own lanes after a moment, anyways.

Hilda steps forward and puts a hand on Marianne’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “See? Look at that! So much better, and that’s just with a change in how you were standing and holding the darn thing,” she says, and then her expression becomes thoughtful. “Gimme your arm.”

Marianne does, holding it out, and Hilda runs her hands along it, squeezing every once in a while. All over again, Marianne’s heart begins to race as the emotions that had been assailing her when Hilda adjusted her stance return in force. Hilda hums.

“If you want…” she says, carefully, “I could take you to the gym with me next time I go. I have to spend a lot of time there anyways, and it’d be nice to have a cute girl with me to admire how tough I am.”

Her tone is flippant, but it’s also a little cautious, and Marianne realizes why. She bites her lip, and Hilda rushes to continue.

“You totally don’t have to! It’s just an offer, and I promise it’s not related _at all_ to what that douche Miklan said. You’re super, super pretty as you are, and I wouldn’t change a thing,” Hilda says, and Marianne feels the tips of her ears burn at the praise, her brain completely short-circuiting. Hilda, _her_ Hilda, thinks she’s pretty. And wouldn’t change her. And wants to _help_ her.

Seeming to interpret Marianne’s continued silence as offense, Hilda’s face falls. “I’m sorry, I know what he said to you really sucked, but…I know that when I didn’t feel super confident in my body, working out a little bit helped. You know…” she flexes her own bicep, and Marianne watches intently. “Get tough enough to punch rude men in the head. Or throw axes really good.” She gives Marianne a nervous smile.

Hilda _does_ have a point. Maybe it _would_ help her feel a little more confident if she were a little more like Hilda. Maybe she wouldn’t need Hilda to come to her rescue again. So she returns Hilda’s smile, shaky though it may be, and nods.

“I’d love to.”

The relief on Hilda’s face is palpable as she seems to realize Marianne isn’t upset. “Great!” Hilda says, enthusiasm filling her voice. Once again, she’s positively _brimming_ with confidence, so much so that Marianne feels as though she must have imagined Hilda’s moment of uncertainty before. “Lets see if we can get you throwing bullseyes before we leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thanks to my lovely editor [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells), as always. I may or may not have the next chapter up tomorrow, we'll see.


	4. Hitting the Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She should have known Hilda would _not_ let her back into the car, all sweaty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you smut, never let it be said that Ms. Lily does not deliver.

Marianne doesn’t think she’s ever been this sweaty in her _life_.

Granted, there were gym classes back in high school, and _everyone_ is sweaty when they’re a teenager, but this feels entirely different. She’s _exhausted_ , her whole body feels like jelly, she probably looks absolutely horrid, and the worst part is that _Hilda_ still seems absolutely perfect.

In fact, Hilda’s still going. She’s clearly tired, clearly also sweaty, but where Marianne is sticky, Hilda _glistens_. Where Marianne’s hair looks like a mess, Hilda’s is artfully tousled. It just seems deeply, truly unfair, and her self-consciousness has only gotten worse as a result. True, it feels good to get some exercise, and she’s terribly grateful that Hilda took the time to show her how all of the machines work, but between her inability to quit staring at her crush, her weakness and inexperience, and her distinctly _un_ sexy appearance, she’s quite certain Hilda will not be interested in seeing her again. Marianne doesn’t think she could blame her.

Right now, she’s…well, Hilda called it _spotting_ , while Hilda uses the bench press, but she’s pretty sure a spotter is supposed to be able to help if something goes wrong. This would be difficult, as Marianne doesn’t think she could lift _one_ of the weights Hilda’s got on the bar, let alone the whole assembly.

“Eight,” Hilda says, grunting from the exertion as she raises the bar once more. Marianne bites her lip, and tries very hard not to be distracted by the way that Hilda’s sports bra clings to her, or how short her workout shorts are, or how toned her midriff is. She’s supposed to be paying attention to the workout, but Hilda’s not _exactly_ making that easy.

The bar comes down to Hilda’s chest, which gives Marianne an excuse to look at it, which she positively relishes, before it goes back up again. “Nine,” Hilda growls. Her arms are beginning to wobble a bit, and Marianne feels a stab of panic. Is she going to have to try to catch the thing? Or is she going to have to run for help and hope Hilda doesn’t accidentally crush her own windpipe? She extends her hands out a little bit, getting ready to do her best to help.

Once more down. Marianne feels the tension. Once more up, and onto the rack, and Marianne heaves a sigh of relief.

“Ten!” Hilda exclaims, letting her arms flop down to the sides of the bench. She lets out a long, exultant breath, then looks up at Marianne. “What do you think? Impressed yet?”

Marianne shivers. She’s impressed, alright.

“Yes, very much so!” she says, trying not to stumble over her words. “You…um…you’re very strong!”

Hilda laughs, sounding more than a little winded. “Well, yeah, maybe, but it took a lot of work to get here. I have no doubt that you’ll be lifting just as much as me before too long, Miss Marianne. In fact, you wanna give it a try now?”

Her eyes go wide, and she begins to stammer out a response, but Hilda laughs again. “I’m kidding, Mari, don’t worry. I can tell you’re tired, I don’t wanna pressure you to do more. Lets go shower off, okay?”

Showers.

Marianne blinks.

 _Showers_.

“Oh, uh, Hilda, why don’t you go without me? I…I can shower when I get home, it’s okay!” Marianne says, quickly. “I don’t think I should—”

Hilda cuts her off. “Hey, come on. What’s the matter? It’s only you and me here; the gym is like, totally empty. It’s a Sunday night. And I promise, you don’t wanna walk around in those clothes longer than you have to,” she adds, gesturing to Marianne’s old t-shirt and gym shorts, which are obviously soaked.

“M-Maybe so, but, still, I just think it would be better if…if I didn’t…” she protests, weakly. Marianne had completely forgotten that showers were often considered part of a workout, given that she hasn’t done any strenuous exercise since her sophomore year of high school, and it’s now her junior year of college. Back then, she hadn’t been _out_ yet. She hadn’t been _her_.

And…because she’s a coward, it’s been a whole week since their first date, and she _still_ hasn’t come out to _Hilda_. Which is awful. She feels horrible about it, feels awful that she would keep something about herself that’s such a big part of her identity so secret. But she was afraid—and _is_ afraid—that when Hilda finds out that she’s trans, she won’t want to see her anymore.

This has been one of the best weeks of Marianne’s life, and she doesn’t want it to be over.

She’s trembling, and she knows Hilda can tell, because the other woman’s casual, easy grin becomes a look of concern.

“Hey, if you really don’t want to, I’m not going to force you, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, alright? We’re both women. No judgies.” Hilda says, her voice gentle.

Marianne laughs a nervous little laugh. “Right. That makes sense.” She closes her eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath, and opens them again. “Okay. Let’s go get cleaned up,” she says, hating herself for how much her voice trembles. But it’s as confident as she can be, right now. It would have had to come up sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner, before she has a chance to get too attached.

Hilda nods, beaming. “Yeah, okay! That’s the spirit!” she says, turning to leave and beckoning for Marianne to follow.

She’s talking the whole way to the showers, sharing gossip about the other girls on her team, and talking about her classes—which she isn’t doing so well in, at the moment—and being just as carefree as ever, but Marianne isn’t able to focus. Her heart is beating a million miles an hour, so hard that it feels like it’s going to shatter her ribs and run away. She’s sweating, and it’s a sweat that has nothing to do with her workout. As much as she tries to keep herself calm, she finds it to be increasingly difficult as they arrive at the locker room.

“Alright, well, in we go!” says Hilda, throwing the door wide. “Honestly, Marianne, I’m glad it’s just you and me. I still really don’t like showering with other people when I can avoid it, but I’m _definitely_ not gonna go get in the car while I’m all sticky and gross.” She passes her locker on the way, pops it open, and rummages around for the soap she brought. She grabs two towels as well, for which Marianne is grateful. She didn’t actually bring _anything_ , other than the purse she usually carries of course, which sits in Hilda’s locker with her gym bag.

Marianne hesitates. “Y-you go first, I’ll be there in just a minute. I want to check my phone,” she lies. Hilda shrugs.

“Alright, just don’t take too long, okay? I don’t wanna be here all night.”

The moment Marianne turns around, she hears the sound of clothing being removed and tossed onto a bench nearby, which is enough to nearly make her squeak. Hilda, her crush, her _date_ , maybe even her _girlfriend_ , is in the locker room with her right now, completely naked. Marianne is too terrified to even turn to look, as much as she really, _really_ wants to.

She takes a deep breath again. And another. Okay. Do or die. One way or another, Hilda’s going to learn something new about her today. As soon as she hears Hilda’s footsteps recede into the distance, she removes her own clothing.

Her shirt comes off first. Her own sports bra, next. Her shorts. She closes her eyes, swallows hard, and lets her boyshorts follow. At this point, Marianne can hear nothing beyond the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. She bites her lip and makes haste to the showers.

When she enters, she sees that it’s already beginning to steam and, to her relief, the only other person there is Hilda. She’s facing away from the entryway, humming to herself as she wets her hair under the water. Marianne takes a moment and stares, because, well, how could she _not?_

As Hilda pulls her long, pink hair over one shoulder, Marianne can see the taut, strong muscles of Hilda’s upper back, which are just as lovely as all the others on her arms and legs. Her skin is _flawless_ , to a positively _unfair_ degree, too, Marianne notes. As her eyes travel down to Hilda’s lower back, she can’t pull her gaze away from the curve of Hilda’s perfect backside, the way she gently slopes and curves, and how lovely her thighs and calves are, as well. She can’t help but imagine running her hands all over Hilda, appreciating her with her touch as well as her eyes or words, and…

Oh dear. She… _feels_ her arousal beginning to show, between her legs, and she quickly finds a spot in the showers where she can have a little space to herself, quickly turning her back on Hilda to try to hide it. Apparently she moves fast enough to alert Hilda to her presence, because she hears the other woman turn to look at her.

“Ooh, Mari, finally decided to join me, huh?” she purrs. “Cute butt.”

Marianne gasps. “W-What?”

“Your butt! It’s cute. You got a cute butt,” Hilda elucidates, which draws a small whine out of Marianne.

“Please, you don’t have to—”

Hilda cuts her off again, as she’s made a habit of doing when Marianne is self-denigrating. “Shush! Didn’t I tell you just the other day that I think you’re pretty? I’m just making sure you know that includes your butt. Don’t you argue with me, Miss Marianne.”

She can’t help but giggle ruefully at the absurdity of it all. “Okay, Hilda, no arguing.”

There’s a moment of silence, save for the rushing water and Marianne’s rushing heartbeat.

“Are you still looking at me?” Marianne asks, nervous. She hears Hilda turn around quickly, once more interrupting the flow of her own showerhead.

“What? No, of course not,” she says, and if Marianne didn’t know any better, she’d think _Hilda_ sounded nervous, too.

Marianne takes a deep breath. Now or never.

“H-Hilda, there’s something I need to tell you,” she begins, her voice tremulous.

“Huh? Okay, sure. Can you tell me while you wash my back?”

She freezes. Hilda wants her to…wash her back? To touch her? Naked? “Are you c-certain?” Marianne asks, looking down at her still-quite-obvious arousal. She…probably could, but she’d have to be _very_ careful not to get too close. Marianne tries desperately to think unsexy thoughts.

When Hilda speaks again, she sounds confused. “Uh, yeah. I asked, didn’t I? You don’t have to, but it sure would be helpful. My arms aren’t that long.”

Marianne nods, then realizes Hilda can’t see her. “Okay, I can help with that,” she says, crossing the short distance to where Hilda stands, still facing away.

“Sweet, thanks. Here.” Hilda hands back the bottle of body wash. “It’s the nice stuff, with like, the little beads in it? Make sure you rub it really good, it’s exfoliating.”

Marianne swallows, pouring a bit of the rose-scented soap into her palm, then rubs both of her hands together. Hesitantly, as though she’s afraid Hilda might bite her, she reaches out and places her hands on the other girl’s shoulders.

“Mmh. Yeah. That hits the spot, Mari,” she says, as Marianne begins to work her hands around, more like she’s giving Hilda a massage than anything else. Despite her nervousness, she feels little but a ravenous hunger to feel every inch of Hilda’s perfect, beautiful body. Her hands are firm, unerring, and thorough, and Hilda hums in pleasure. “Goddess, I dunno where you learned to give backrubs, but I’m _keeping_ you.”

Marianne’s eyes widen. “K-keeping me? Like…f-for a while?” she asks, trying not to sound overeager.

“Well, yeah. I don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” Hilda asks, like it’s the most simple thing in the world.

“Well, no,” Marianne admits.

“Cool. Now we both do. Easy.”

She’s stunned. Just like that? That easily? Hilda just…sort of _decided_ they’re an item, and Marianne can barely believe it. She steels herself, stills her hands, and speaks.

“Oh. Okay. Hilda, there’s something I need to tell—”

At that moment, Hilda moves as though she intends to turn around to face her, but it takes her back a step.

Into the _front_ of Marianne. Both of them freeze. Marianne squeaks and Hilda gasps as she brushes _right_ against Marianne’s tip.

“…something you need to tell me?” Hilda inquires, after a moment of silence. Her tone is carefully neutral.

Marianne feels her head getting hot. Her tongue is thick and heavy in her mouth, she’s struggling to even breathe, she thinks she might throw up, she—

“Can it wait until after we take care of _this?_ ” Hilda purrs. She doesn’t miss a beat. Her hand slips back, fingertips trailing up Marianne’s thigh, and she wraps her fingers delicately and decisively around Marianne’s shaft. “I think you might find yourself a _little_ distracted until we do.”

A sharp intake of breath from Marianne cuts her off mid-sentence. The sensation is…wonderful, yes, but her mind struggles to keep up.

“Until we…” she begins, sluggishly, gripping tight to Hilda’s shoulders.

Hilda— _her girlfriend_ —giggles. “Yeah. Unless it’s like, super important. Is this okay, Mari? Can I touch you like this? I know I should have asked first, but…”

“N-No! I mean, yes, no, it’s fine. Please,” she stammers, completely flustered. She’s been working herself up for a _week_ to tell Hilda about this, terrified of the response she might get, and Hilda’s just taken it in stride like it’s _nothing_. “Y-you don’t have to, though.”

She lets go of Marianne and turns around to face her properly, arms crossed in front of her. “I know I don’t have to, but I wanna. Although…Hmm…” Hilda trails off thoughtfully as Marianne tries very hard not to fixate on her absolutely _perfect_ chest.

Hilda reaches out, puts one hand on Marianne’s hip, puts the other on her back, slides it up to the back of her neck, and pulls her close. And then, Hilda Goneril, Marianne’s _girlfriend_ , pulls her close and kisses her _hard._

Marianne’s eyelids flutter and she closes her eyes, sinking into the kiss. Unsure what to do with her hands, they find their way onto Hilda’s hips. She seems to like that, because she hums into her mouth, even as she slips her tongue between Marianne’s lips.

They remain locked together like that for what feels like hours, until Hilda finally pulls away. Marianne’s pulse is pounding, and she blinks in surprise. “Wh…what?” she asks, feeling more than a little dazed.

“Well,” Hilda says, breathless. “Seems like it would be weird to go down on you if I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

Marianne’s eyes widen. “T-to do what?” she asks, shocked. Rather than respond, Hilda spins the two of them around and puts Marianne’s back firmly against the wall of the shower. “Wait, _here_? Hilda, it…it’s in _public_ , someone might _see us_!” she sputters in weak protest.

“Yeah, they might,” Hilda says, slipping down to her knees, letting her hands come with her and trailing them down Marianne’s back and thigh. She leans forward, slightly, just enough to press the tiniest, softest kiss to Marianne’s tip. “So, if you really want me to stop,” she adds, her breath hot enough to make Marianne twitch in anticipation. “I’ll stop.”

There’s just the shortest, tiniest moment of hesitation. Marianne shakes her head, wordlessly, and Hilda grins from ear to ear.

“Good girl,” Hilda coos, and Marianne nearly comes right there. She leans forward, pressing a couple of small, delicate pecks against her shaft before returning to her previous position. Hilda takes Marianne’s tip—and _only_ her tip—between her lips, swirling her tongue around it gently.

Marianne whimpers, trying to brace herself against the wall and keep her knees from buckling. She wants to hold out, wants to _last_ , but she’s already so sensitive, and so pent up, and so turned on by everything about the situation that she has _no_ idea how long she’ll be able to.

Hilda simply teases her for a minute, flicking her tongue against Marianne’s tip, bobbing her head _just_ a little bit, putting her hands on Marianne’s thighs and dragging her fingernails down them, making her gasp and shiver. “Please, Hilda,” Marianne begs. “Please, _please_ don’t tease me.” She’s never been more turned on in her life, she’s so desperate that she can feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

In response, Hilda simply bats her eyelashes prettily, grips tight to Marianne, and plunges down Marianne’s entire length without warning. Marianne _sings_ , bucking her hips forward into Hilda’s mouth, though she can’t go very far. Hilda’s already taken her to the base, and she groans around her. It’s quite nearly too much, and Marianne can feel her legs trembling.

“Goddess, Hilda, please,” she whines pitifully, putting one hand on Hilda’s head while the other grips futilely at the wall behind her.

Apparently deciding to have mercy on Marianne and not tease her any further, Hilda pulls back, and then goes down once more, using her hand to stroke whatever part of Marianne isn’t in her mouth. It takes _embarrassingly_ few repetitions before Marianne is trying desperately to hold back.

“Hilda, Hilda, _Goddess_ , I’m going to—”

Hilda, once more, plunges all the way to Marianne’s hilt, and that’s simply too much for her to bear. Marianne cries out loud enough that she’s sure _anyone_ still in the building would hear her, as she reaches her peak and comes, hard, in Hilda’s mouth.

Her new girlfriend apparently knows what she’s doing, because she stays that way for a moment, moving only slightly, keeping the blissful, wet heat of her mouth around Marianne as she has the most intense orgasm of her entire life. She nearly falls over, and she probably would have if not for Hilda’s hands pressing against her thighs.

Once Marianne is completely spent, Hilda pulls away, swallows once, and that’s simply the end of it. Marianne slides down the wall to sit on the floor of the shower, eye level with Hilda, who is smirking openly. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s a little tiny drop of fluid on her chin that she doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to remove.

“Can’t believe you’re gonna sit on the floor of the shower, Mari. That’s kinda gross,” she says, like she isn’t kneeling on it herself. “So, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Huh?” Marianne replies, dazed.

“You know, before I totally rocked your world there, there was something you were gonna tell me. Open communication is important in any romantic relationship,” Hilda says, very matter-of-fact. Marianne giggles, exhausted.

“Oh, that. Uh…Hilda, I’m transgender.”

“Hmm.” Hilda looks thoughtful for a moment. “Okay, sure. You’re also my girlfriend, so, like, whatever.”

Marianne slumps back against the wall, thoroughly physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted. “Are…um…are you strong enough to carry me?” she asks, flushing slightly. “I don’t know if I can stand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing Hilda drove, because Marianne isn't in any shape to be working pedals.  
> Thanks for reading, I've probably got about two more chapters to go. For updates, come find me on twitter [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite). Thanks, as always, to my fabulous editor [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells). If you want more delicious WLW content, you'll find few equals and none better.


	5. Statistical Improbability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne nearly makes an irreversible statement.

Two Months Later

“Ugh, Goddess, that sucked,” Hilda complains, shoving her hands in her pockets as they walk out the front doors of the technology building. “Why do I even have to _take_ a statistics class? I’m a fashion major! It’s not fair!”

Marianne hums noncommittally, keeping pace with her girlfriend as they trudge out into the snow. “Well, you studied all last night, right?” she asks, shivering as the winter chill hits her like a train. “You can’t have done that badly.”

Hilda mumbles something that Marianne can’t make out.

“What was that?”

“…might have watched Food Network instead,” she grumbles, sounding embarrassed. Marianne giggles, and Hilda smacks her lightly on the shoulder. “It’s not funny!”

Marianne only laughs harder. “Hilda, it’s a little bit funny,” she insists, and Hilda only groans.

“Whatever. How did your last one go? Biometric psychiatry or something?”

“Biological psychology.”

“Same thing.”

It’s Marianne’s turn to groan, then. “Hilda, it’s not even close. Biometrics aren’t related at all, and psychiatry is about medication.”

“If you keep being a nerd, I, as a jock, am gonna be contractually obligated to bully you,” Hilda threatens. Marianne looks up at her and sees a mischievous twinkle in her eye, matching the smile on her lips. She knows that look.

“Is that so? How do you intend to bully me?” Marianne teases. “What would you say the chances are of me being successfully bullied? Statistically, I mean.”

Hilda’s smile turns into a scowl and she scoops a handful of fresh snow off the low wall beside their walkway, then reaches out to grab Marianne by her sleeve. “Come here, you’re getting snow down your pants,” she growls, and Marianne just _barely_ manages to squirm out of Hilda’s grip and dance away before she has the chance to make good on her threat. She squeals in mock-terror and flees down the path, with Hilda in hot pursuit.

She knows she doesn’t have a chance of actually getting away; two months of working out isn’t nearly enough time to catch up to her athlete girlfriend, but she has to at least try.

As she runs, she considers how unbelievable this would have seemed to her, even half a year ago. She has a wonderful—and incredibly pretty—girlfriend who is nothing but supportive, she’s getting in shape; goodness, even her _grades_ are improving. Something about Hilda brings out the best in her, and she’s so, so grateful for that.

Well, not so grateful that she won’t tease that wonderful girlfriend a little.

But even _that_ is astounding to her, the fact that she has the confidence to joke and tease her partner without being afraid she’s going to leave her, or resent her, or consider her an irritation. She doesn’t know that she’s ever felt so comfortable with someone, even her best friends.

It’s right about that moment—about thirty seconds into Marianne’s flight—that Hilda finally catches up and full-body tackles Marianne face-first into the snow. Marianne shrieks in a mixture of shock from the cold, surprise, and delight, and Hilda cackles madly, straddling her hips from behind. She grabs a fistful of snow and shoves it up the back of Marianne’s jacket, causing her to cry out again, flailing as she tries to get free.

“Hilda, that’s _cold!_ ” she yelps as a second lump of snow finds its way down the waist of her jeans.

Hilda giggles, still sat atop Marianne. “Yeah, that’s the idea, _nerd_ ,” she says, triumphant. “Are you feeling bullied yet?”

“One hundred percent, now can I please get up?” Marianne whines. Hilda, still laughing, just falls off of her and into the snow to the side. She can’t help herself, Marianne begins to laugh as well, and the two of them simply lie there, laughing until it hurts to breathe the cold winter air.

“Hilda, we’re going to get sick if we stay here,” Marianne warns, once she’s finally calmed down. She’s still lying in the snow, and she turns to see Hilda looking at her, also panting from her own giggle-fit. Despite Marianne’s words, they simply lie there for a moment, watching each other, smiles on their faces.

Something…happens, in that blissful, euphoric moment. Marianne feels something stirring in her chest, deep inside. It bubbles up from her heart and into her throat, and she speaks, without thinking.

“Hilda…I think I lov-” she begins, but she snaps back to herself, manages to stop before she finishes the word. What is she _doing_? She can’t just… _say_ something like that. It doesn’t matter how good she feels, how comfortable she feels. That, _surely_ , would be enough to scare Hilda away. She can’t say that. Not yet.

“…lost my keys. I think I lost my keys, when we were rolling around,” she says, quickly. “I can’t feel them in my pocket.”

A strange expression flickers across Hilda’s face. It looks almost like…disappointment? Regret? But it’s gone in an instant, so quickly that Marianne thinks she must have imagined it. “Oh, yeah?” Hilda rolls over and pushes herself to her feet, then holds a hand out for Marianne. “C’mon, get up and I’ll help you look.”

She takes the offered hand, hauls herself to her feet, and makes a show of kicking around in the snow for a minute or so with Hilda, until she ‘discovers’ that her keys are, in fact, still in her pocket. She apologizes to Hilda for the trouble, and Hilda shrugs it off.

As they walk back to Hilda’s car, Marianne is lost in thought once more. She keeps up her end of the conversation, of course, because they have an easy rhythm to their interactions now, but the weight of what she almost said sits in the pit of her stomach like a stone.

_Hilda, I think I love you._

She tries to push it away. Is this too early? Is it too much? Will they even be together long enough for something like that to matter? Her old, familiar doubts begin to settle in. They tell her that Hilda would run, that she’s too much of a free spirit to want to hear that from someone like _Marianne_ , of all people, that this relationship is still probably only temporary, and that Hilda will eventually see her for what she really is and move on.

All of these thoughts, and more, swirl around within Marianne. She must have gone quiet, because Hilda pokes her in the arm.

“Hey, Earth to Marianne. Are you in there?” she asks, sounding worried. Marianne shivers, physically shaking the thoughts away.

“Y-Yes. I am. Sorry,” she says. “I…just have some things on my mind, that’s all. Stress, maybe.”

She gives Hilda a weak smile, and her girlfriend returns it without hesitation, leaning in and giving her a quick, chaste little kiss on the lips. “Maybe so. Let’s go get something warm to drink. Maybe take a bath, huh? I bet my tub can fit both of us.”

Marianne blushes. They’ve fooled around a few times since that first occasion at the gym, but she _still_ doesn’t know how Hilda can say things like that so casually.

“That sounds nice,” she says, and that’s just…the end of it. Hilda never presses. She never pushes. Never makes Marianne talk about things she isn’t ready for. She doesn’t know _what_ she’s done to deserve such a partner, but she hopes against hope that she can eventually be worthy of such treatment.

“Cool. I got this new hot chocolate mix I think you’ll _love_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bully me on twitter [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite), and thanks, as always, to my editor, [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells).


	6. Your Biggest Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, who _hasn't_ snuck away with their girlfriend to make out at a party?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter! I hope you like it.

“Three!” call the partygoers in unison. All eyes are fixed upon the TV in Claude’s living room, as though this isn’t something they’ve all seen at least twenty times before.

“Two!” comes the next cry, and Marianne _somehow_ manages to make herself heard with the rest. She can’t believe she’s actually at a party, of all things, but she supposes she should be used to it by now. There’s no way Hilda would have let her stay home all by herself.

“One!” and the excitement in the room is palpable. Marianne supposes it’s been a long, difficult year, but as she stands there with Hilda’s arm around her shoulders, she can’t think of much she would have done differently.

“Happy New Year!” Hilda bellows, louder than the rest. She might do _some_ things halfway, but celebrate is not one of them. Everyone holds their miniature confetti cannons in the air and pops them at once, showering the room—or at least some small parts of it—in bits of paper and glimmering plastic stars. Hilda’s, in particular, goes right over Marianne’s head and rains down into her hair. She elbows Hilda lightly in the side, playfully grumpy.

“You’re going to pick that out of my hair, right?” she asks as the room buzzes with conversation once more, leaning in close enough that she can feel Hilda’s pink locks brushing against her nose. “That’ll take _forever_ to get out on my own.”

Hilda snorts. “Aww, come on, you’re no fun! I was trying to make you look a little more festive!”

With a roll of her eyes, Marianne, emboldened perhaps by the atmosphere of the evening, leans in and kisses Hilda on the cheek. “That’s very considerate of you, Hilda.”

But when she looks up, she sees that Hilda appears to be scanning the room, distracted. Like…she’s looking for something. Marianne frowns and nudges her. “Is everything okay?” she asks. It’s not like Hilda to be reticent, after all.

“Yeah, I’m good, just…checking something,” she mutters. Marianne follows her gaze around the party.

Hilda’s friend Claude had invited the two of them over for his New Year’s Eve party, and even though Marianne isn’t one for parties, she has to admit she’s had a nice enough time. Claude is very sweet, and his boyfriend Lorenz, while he initially seemed a little bit stuck up, is rather pleasant as well. Leonie—the very same Leonie that Bernadetta has feelings for—is there as well. Marianne is very excited to return home and tell Bernadetta that not only is she single, she mentioned a ‘really cute, short girl with purple-ish hair’ that she saw watching her the other day. Perhaps a double date is in their future, Marianne considers.

Lysithea is…a bit odd, though she doesn’t seem _unfriendly_ , so much as just irritable, and Raphael hasn’t moved from the snack table all evening. His roommate, Ignatz, is discussing something very animatedly with Lysithea, but it’s not something Marianne can make out.

All told, it’s quite a pleasant bunch, but none of them seem to be paying much attention to Hilda and Marianne at the moment. And so, it is _in_ that moment that Hilda takes Marianne by the arm and, wordlessly, spirits her away and around the corner out of the room. Marianne gasps, but follows her girlfriend’s lead nonetheless.

“Hilda, what are you doing?” she whispers, feeling like she should probably keep her voice down. “Why are you acting so sneaky all of a sudden?”

Hilda snickers, in that way that she does when she’s up to something. “Because I’m trying to…uh…sneak? Specifically, sneak you into the guest room and make out with you.”

Marianne flushes bright red, and it’s all she can do not to gasp aloud. “Hilda, here? Really? I mean, the gym is one thing, but there’s people, and—”

“It’s fine, the door locks. I’ve crashed here before,” Hilda insists, waving off her concerns and dragging her down the hallway.

Before Marianne can protest any further, Hilda nearly _drags_ her down the hall and into the aforementioned guest room, then half-tosses her onto the bed sitting in the middle of the floor. Marianne squeaks as she lands on it, seated, while Hilda locks the door and turns to look at her.

“I mean, if you’d rather not…” Hilda suggests, over the sound of the clicking lock, and Marianne knows she means it. Hilda speaks like she’s being very coy and bats her eyes coquettishly, but she knows that if she really wants to _not_ , Hilda will respect that.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to, either, it’s just that she’s more than a little bit caught off-guard by Hilda’s antics. She often is; it’s difficult _not_ to be off-balance when Hilda’s around, due to her sheer force of personality, and Marianne can’t help but wonder if Hilda even knows how it _feels_ to be the one being led like that. Being, pulled and tossed, and…

Marianne has an idea. It’s something she’d have never considered—not in a _million_ years—before she met Hilda, but now? It’s undeniably an attractive thought. There’s a loud _thump_ from outside the room, and as Hilda averts her gaze for just a moment, Marianne strikes.

She pops up from the bed, crosses the couple steps to where Hilda stands, and when her girlfriend turns to face her with wide, surprised eyes and a half-open mouth, Marianne presses her against the door and kisses her, _hard_.

There’s a shocked whimper from Hilda as she nearly tries to push Marianne away out of sheer reflex, but once she realizes what’s going on, she positively melts into the embrace. Her eyelids flutter slightly before her eyes close completely and she kisses Marianne back fully, opening her mouth and allowing Marianne’s tongue between her lips.

Hilda arches her body forward against Marianne’s, pressing into her, and the effect it has on Marianne is immediate and very, _very_ noticeable. She doesn’t try to hide her arousal though; despite her initial self-consciousness about that, and about her identity, Hilda has shown her on more than one occasion that she doesn’t mind in the least.

Instead, she presses back into Hilda, letting her feel it, and her girlfriend shivers in delight. The effect she’s having on her partner is nearly enough to make Marianne feel dizzy; she never imagined she would ever feel so…well… _sexy_ . It’s addictive, and she wants more. She wants to see what noises Hilda will make for her. She wants to see how she can make Hilda’s body move, make her _writhe_ . Something _feral_ awakens in Marianne, and it shoves all of her self-doubt and shame far, far into the back of her mind

Hilda whines again, more insistent this time, so Marianne slides her hands down to Hilda’s hips, grabs her tight, and spins both of them around to the bed. Their kiss breaks, and Hilda cries out as she goes tumbling down onto her back.

Marianne wastes no time at all, following her down and planting her lips to Hilda’s neck, where she places several small kisses in a line down toward her collarbone. Her girlfriend hums, sliding her fingers into Marianne’s hair to keep her close. “Where did this come from?” she asks, then gasps as Marianne sinks her teeth into her neck. “N-not that I don’t love it, don’t get me wrong.”

“I don’t know,” Marianne breathes against Hilda’s skin. “I don’t care, either.”

She bites down on Hilda’s neck once more, making her moan. “If you keep doing that, people are going to know when they see—”

“I _don’t care_ ,” Marianne insists, sliding up onto the bed, putting her knee between Hilda’s legs, and grinding against her. The fingers in her hair grip tighter, and Hilda’s shuddering, panting beneath her as though she’s been held underwater for ages and only just come up for air.

“Marianne, you’re being like…really hot right now, you know that?”

The praise, despite Marianne’s fervor, still makes her feel positively lovely. The enthusiastic consent doesn’t hurt, either, and she takes that moment to slip her hands up the hem of Hilda’s shirt and whip it off because it is very frustratingly _in the way._

And then she stops, for a moment, because even though she’s seen Hilda without clothes on before, she’s still always blown away by how beautiful her partner is. Setting aside the fact that she’s wearing Marianne’s favorite bra—suggesting that she intended the evening to play out just how it has been—she runs her hands up Hilda’s taut, muscled stomach. Marianne isn’t there yet, despite her own hard work and exercise, but the way Hilda feels beneath her palms is certainly good motivation. There’s just something about being able to feel a partner’s muscles like that, something that drives Marianne wild.

The way Hilda wriggles beneath her doesn’t hurt, either, and she presses her knee up between Hilda’s legs once more to continue to tease her. She wants Hilda to be _desperate_ , and by the sound of it, she’s getting there.

“Marianne, come on,” she groans. “You’re being _mean_.”

Marianne only giggles at that, then digs her hands in behind Hilda’s back and undoes the clasp on her bra, tossing it aside with the shirt. “Didn’t you tell me I needed to be more…uh…assertive?” she asks, gently taunting. She could get used to this whole ‘topping’ thing.

Hilda, clearly frustrated, pulls Marianne down by her hair, claiming her mouth with another kiss. When she finally lets go, she’s wide-eyed and perfectly flushed and trying to look irritated but not _quite_ selling Marianne on the idea that she is.

“Marianne, if you do not fuck me _right now_ ,” she says, her tone warning.

“If I don’t, then what?”

She bites her lip, her frustration clearly growing and her breath catching as Marianne presses her knee up once more. Hilda whimpers, going straight from irritation to a full pout.

“If you don’t…” Hilda begins, reaching out with her free hand and flicking open the buttons on Marianne’s flannel, one by one. “If you don’t, I’ll be sad.”

And Hilda’s eyes, unbelievably, begin to water. Marianne is well aware they’re crocodile tears; she’s seen Hilda cry to get out of a speeding ticket before, but that knowledge does not keep guilt from needling her right in the heart. She cannot, in good conscience, make Hilda cry. Not even as a joke.

She tries to hold firm. She really does. But the moment that Hilda’s lip begins to tremble and she does that little sniffle that she does before she cries, Marianne interrupts her with a hard, passionate kiss on the lips. Hilda’s demeanor changes immediately, and she chuckles into Marianne’s mouth as she undoes the last button on her shirt.

“Thanks, babe,” Hilda purrs as Marianne pulls away briefly to remove her shirt. After a moment of consideration, she sends her bra with it, where the two articles join Hilda’s on the floor. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

“Y-You’re playing dirty!” Marianne retorts, leaning back down. “I…don’t think I could ever be mean to you, Hilda,” she adds, quieter. She hopes the adoration that she feels comes through in her voice, because even several months later, she still finds herself occasionally in awe that Hilda is her partner.

Hilda snickers. “You know what else is dirty?” she asks, reaching up and unbuttoning Marianne’s jeans just as easily as she’d done the shirt. Marianne still can’t believe how _good_ at that she is. “What’s _dirty_ is what I’m gonna do to you as soon as we get these clothes off,” she finishes, tugging the pants down slightly, just enough to let Marianne’s panties peek out.

Of course, Marianne shimmies the rest of the way out of her jeans, no longer wanting to take it slow, and she fumbles at the buttons on Hilda’s pants as she does. She might be keeping up a cooler façade than usual, but her shaky hands betray her. It’s not the first time they’ve had sex, but it’s the first time they’ve done it in someone else’s home, at a party, and moved so fast. It’s enough to make Marianne’s head spin, and she’s grateful when Hilda helps her with the button and slips out of the article of clothing, easy as breathing.

She’s proud when she sees the damp spot between Hilda’s legs, but she doesn’t let her gaze linger. They might be partners, they might literally be having sex right then, but Marianne still feels bad for staring, and she doesn’t know that she’ll ever feel otherwise. Marianne looks up at Hilda and follows her gaze, though, and sees that it’s fixed squarely between Marianne’s own legs, which makes her blush. Her own arousal is…perhaps even more obvious than Hilda’s.

Hilda stretches out on the soft, luxuriant covers of the bed. “Well?” she asks. “I know you can see how wound up I am. What’cha gonna do about it?”

Somehow, despite it all, Hilda still manages to be the one goading Marianne, and she quickly reminds herself that _she_ is supposed to be the one in charge here, for once. So she falls upon her girlfriend, devouring her with kisses as though she’s the most delicious thing Marianne has ever tasted. Hilda groans when kisses fall lightly upon her like raindrops, she whines when Marianne sinks her teeth into the skin of her neck, or her breast, or bites down on her nipple and tugs at it gently. She squirms as Marianne kisses her way down that _perfect_ stomach, and even gasps when Marianne grabs Hilda’s panties by the sides and tugs them down and off, finally freeing her of her last bit of clothing.

Hilda quickly paws around on the nightstand at the far side of the bed, rifling through the drawer while Marianne casts aside her own remaining undergarments. When Marianne returns to her previous position above Hilda, she gives her girlfriend a quizzical look.

“What are you doing, Hilda? Is now really the time to—”

“Aha! Got one!” Hilda interrupts, pulling her hand out of the drawer and holding up her plunder. Marianne squints at the small object pinched between her index and middle finger.

“A condom? How did you know…?”

Hilda cocks an eyebrow.

“I’ll…ask later.”

“Good girl,” Hilda coos in a way that makes Marianne’s spine tingle. “Come here.”

She pops the condom out of the wrapper and unrolls it onto Marianne, who moans softly at the touch. She’s certainly more than a little turned on, and she’s always been rather sensitive, so the sensation is quite a powerful one. As it’s unrolled to the base, Hilda drags her hand away, letting one finger trace along the bottom of Marianne’s shaft enticingly. “Hilda,” Marianne gasps, and when Hilda brings that finger to her mouth and kisses the tip of that, she feels like she might just die.

Marianne is above Hilda, now, so turned on that she can barely think straight, looking down at the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen in her life, her hair splayed out on the bed like a pretty pink halo. Her face is flush, her lips are slightly parted, her eyes are wide, and Marianne whispers three words before she has a chance to stop herself.

“I love you.”

Time comes to a horrible, screeching, grinding halt, and Marianne goes completely cold. Hilda blinks up at her prettily, her lips forming a soft, surprised ‘o’, clearly just as surprised to be hearing that as Marianne was to say it. Marianne’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment as she tries, desperately tries to come up with some kind of excuse, some way to take it back. But Hilda beats her to it.

“I love you too, Mari,” she says, and there’s so much sincerity, so much _joy_ in the words that Marianne knows she’s speaking the truth. She’s not just saying it to keep Marianne calm. She’s not fibbing to avoid spoiling the moment. She’s not trying to save Marianne’s feelings.

“I’ve…kinda loved you for a bit,” Hilda continues, looking away. “But…I dunno, you seem a little nervous sometimes and I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

Marianne feels a smile find its way, unbidden, onto her face. She can’t help it. She can’t hold it back. And she doesn’t want to. Nor does she know what to say; so she elects to act instead.

She leans down and kisses Hilda again, full of passion and adoration and every ‘I love you’ that she’s had to stifle over the last month or so. She kisses the words into Hilda’s mouth, and she knows they’re being returned in kind.

Hilda breaks the kiss first, grinning that typical, cocky grin that’s so on-brand for her. “As nice as this is,” she says, walking her fingers up Marianne’s arm in a way that gives her goosebumps. “I do still want you to fuck me.”

“Oh. Right,” Marianne replies.

She is still nearly _painfully_ hard, after all, and though she was proud of herself for taking control and being able to tease a little bit, she definitely wants this at least as much as Hilda does. She lowers her head slightly, burying her face in Hilda’s neck as she slowly, inch by inch, presses herself forward and _finally_ inside her girlfriend.

Marianne whimpers softly, because while they’ve done this before, she doesn’t remember it feeling quite so _good_. Perhaps the emotional release of their traded affirmations has made her hyper-aware of physical sensation, or perhaps she’s just desperate after so much teasing.

Regardless, Hilda seems to feel just as relieved, because she lets out a low, long, fluttering breath once Marianne enters her. Hilda reaches up, wrapping her arms around Marianne enough to dig her nails into her lover’s back.

“Come on, Marianne. Come on,” Hilda breathes as Marianne thrusts once, slowly, then pulls back. Both of them cry out softly at the sudden sensation, and Marianne uses one hand to keep herself steady while she trails the other down to find Hilda’s clit. It’s difficult to make it work, due to the angles involved, but Marianne knows she’s got it _just_ right when Hilda whimpers in surprise.

She continues to move her hips, and moves her hand in time, working to find a steady rhythm. Hilda seems nearly blissed-out already, scratching Marianne’s back, gasping, crying out whenever Marianne moves particularly quickly or particularly deeply. She’s trying to draw it out, trying her very best to make it last, even though she isn’t sure how long she’ll be able to hold out.

Mumbled reaffirmations of love and adoration mingle with moans and gasps to create a counterpoint to the rough, needy, desperate pace of Marianne and Hilda’s lovemaking. If pressed, Marianne doesn’t know if she could define how long they continue. If it’s ten minutes, it could just as easily be an hour, or two hours, but it doesn’t matter. The party outside doesn’t matter. The only things that matter to Marianne are the way Hilda clings to her, the heat of her skin, the arching of her back, and soft, desperate cries that slip from between her lips and hang in the air around them.

Hilda comes first, as she often does, and when her body tightens around Marianne’s and she whimpers out one more quiet—but no less intense—“I love you, Mari,” it’s enough to send her partner over the edge as well.

Marianne comes so hard she feels dizzy. She closes her eyes and trembles in Hilda’s arms, barely managing to keep herself from collapsing, trying to keep her voice down, but unable to keep a few high, desperate noises from leaking out of her. The wave of ecstasy rushes through her body and over her with the force of an oncoming tide, and she has no choice but to ride it out to the best of her ability. As she does, Hilda strokes her hair and holds her tight, and when she comes down from that high, and finds herself limp in Hilda’s arms, she feels like she could happily remain that way for the rest of her life.

They simply lie together like that for a while, Hilda rubbing Marianne’s back, Marianne pressing soft, lazy kisses to Hilda’s neck and cheek, each just enjoying the beating of the other’s heart and the sound of the other’s breathing. Marianne very nearly falls asleep, but she’s startled from her warm, comfortable doze by a short, breathy giggle from Hilda.

“What?” Marianne asks, surprised by how floaty and dazed her own voice sounds. “What’s so funny?”

“That was a _workout_ , Marianne. I can tell you haven’t been half-assing it at the gym, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe I should…uh…try out for the football team next year?” she jokes. “Since I’m so tough that I can leave the great Hilda Valentine Goneril exhausted.”

Hilda hums, thoughtful. “Like, I know you’re joking, but you might actually have fun. I bet the girls would really like you, too.”

Now it’s Marianne’s turn to giggle. “You think so?”

“How could they not, Mari? You’re very easy to love. Honestly. But you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“No matter how much they like you, I’ll always be your biggest fan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this fic. Big thanks to [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells) as well, for being a wonderful editor and a wonderful friend to boot. Thanks to the requestors for uh...requesting it. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. And if you'd like to keep up with what I'm doing next, follow me on twitter [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite)


End file.
